


a kick to the teeth is good for some (a kiss with a fist is better than none)

by blackrose1002, BlackVultures



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Beating, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Anguish, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24398107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackrose1002/pseuds/blackrose1002, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVultures/pseuds/BlackVultures
Summary: “Hey, Jack,” Mac said, and cleared his throat when his voice sounded all raspy. Jack’s head snapped to him and he winced from moving too quickly. Slowly, they both sat up, and Mac shifted closer to Jack. “You okay?”“Feel kinda like I got hit by a bus, but other than that I’m good,” Jack said, wincing again when he glanced up at the lights. They were mounted into the joists, probably operated by some kind of remote control. He looked Mac over and raised his eyebrows. “Did I miss the one man strip show?”(Or the one where Jack has to beat the sh*t out of Mac to keep them both alive.)
Relationships: Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Betcha didn't expect to see me again so soon, back with another sick collab from your favorite dynamic duo! But it ain't safe to venture into the world and I've got free time (homework? what homework???) so here we are! This is something we wrote a while back and it's basically exactly what it says on the tin: Jack has to beat the shit out of Mac to keep them both alive until Mac can find a way out of the situation they're in. I tagged it for graphic violence just because I didn't want anybody to be surprised, even though the summary explains it. This first chapter is a little short, but don't worry, I'll make up for it with a hurt/comfort, get together, smutty/feelsy chapter two. ;) As always any mistakes are my own since I put this together, and please tell us what you think! Enjoy!
> 
> (Title is from "Kiss With a Fist" by Florence + The Machine.)

If Mac had a nickel for every time he’d woken up groggy and with a headache that wasn’t from a hangover, he’d be on a yacht somewhere instead of... wherever he was this time.

He was lying on his back on... concrete, judging from the feel of it, the swollen remnants from an injection in the side of his neck. He wore nothing but his underwear so his skin was chilly, and when he managed to open his eyes he saw the exposed floor joists of a basement. A glance to his right showed him a space that was empty save for an iron support post for the house and a high basement window that was blacked out with tar paper. The light in the space was bright and sterile LED coming from... somewhere, and that was what woke him up, the lights turning on.

There was a groan from beside him, and Mac jumped at the sound before he recognized it: Jack was there, too. Mac turned to look and found him lying on his back and slowly blinking his eyes open. Interestingly, Jack was fully dressed, in the same clothes he’d had on before when they... when they were doing _something_ , Mac couldn’t exactly remember, probably because of the drugs.

“Hey, Jack,” Mac said, and cleared his throat when his voice sounded all raspy. Jack’s head snapped to him and he winced from moving too quickly. Slowly, they both sat up, and Mac shifted closer to Jack. “You okay?”

“Feel kinda like I got hit by a bus, but other than that I’m good,” Jack said, wincing again when he glanced up at the lights. They were mounted into the joists, probably operated by some kind of remote control. He looked Mac over and raised his eyebrows. “Did I miss the one man strip show?”

Mac made a face at him but smiled gratefully when Jack put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side. His warmth hit Mac’s skin immediately and made him shiver, and despite what was obviously a perilous situation he couldn’t help but wonder what that warmth would feel like under... different circumstances. He glanced around again and the first thing he noticed was that the stairs to get down to the basement were drawn up into the floor joists, almost like a folding ladder for attic access but in reverse.

The second thing he noticed was what appeared to be a turret-mounted machine gun hanging in the far corner. “Uh, Jack? I think we have another problem.”

“What is it?” Jack asked, and followed Mac’s line of sight, tensing when he spotted the gun. Instantly he shifted, shoving Mac behind his back, and Mac’s heart stuttered a little even though he didn’t want Jack to get hurt trying to save him. But he knew fighting him on that was pointless, so instead he focused on trying to find something that would help them get out. He knew Jack was studying the room from the strategic point of view—to be more specific, he was looking for places to stash Mac while he punched their way out of this. “What the hell, man?”

Here was the problem: there was nowhere to hide. Except for a couple more of those iron support posts and the folded up stairs, there was nothing that could remotely be useful as cover. Mac was disliking this situation more and more, and he curled his fingers into the back of Jack’s shirt without conscious thought. “I’m not sure,” he said, belatedly responding to Jack’s question. “This reminds me of one of those bad horror movies Bozer likes.”

As he said that a piece of paper fluttered down from a razor-thin slot near the folded stairs. It looked like heavy cardstock and landed on the concrete soundlessly. They both stared at the piece of paper for a moment before they turned their heads to look at each other, almost in sync.

“The last thing I want is to see what it is, but...” Jack trailed off.

“But we don’t have a choice,” Mac agreed, and before he could move Jack was already standing up, so Mac had to let go of his t-shirt. Slowly, Jack walked up to the piece of paper, his eyes darting around in search of dangers, and then he bent down to pick it up. His eyes swiped over the message and Mac saw him blanch—he immediately grew concerned, his chest tightening painfully. “What is it? Jack?”

Jack walked back over to Mac and hesitated for just a moment before he handed Mac the letter. He didn’t sit back down but started to pace a little instead, and nervous movement like that from Jack meant something was very, very wrong.

Mac looked at the letter and his eyes widened a little, because in plain handwriting it delivered a simple yet effective message: **Agent Dalton—you have five minutes to start hitting Agent MacGyver. Refuse, and you both die.**

As if on cue, the turret holding the machine gun whirred to life, the barrel of the weapon rising to point in their direction.

Mac glanced at it, then up at Jack, knowing his partner wouldn’t like what he was about to say. “Jack, I... I’m not sure we have many options here.”

Jack’s head snapped to him and there was this wild look in his eyes that scared Mac a little—he wasn’t afraid of Jack, of course not, but he was scared of what this look meant. He didn’t want Jack to do something stupid while trying to save him. “What, Mac? I’m supposed to what, start punching you? And for how long, huh?” Jack ran his hands through his short hair. “What’s... what’s the endgame here?”

“I don’t know,” Mac said again, and he hated not having an answer, especially when Jack was so obviously distressed at the idea of hurting him.

Since the day they met in the Sandbox they had never so much as thrown a punch at each other again, even for cover on an op—Jack was very clear when he told Mac that once he won Mac’s trust he wasn’t going to jeopardize it with physical violence. Even during Riley’s first mission when Jack got emotionally compromised, he could’ve hit Mac to get him out of his way and didn’t, that was how deep that conviction ran.

Mac gestured subtly for Jack to get closer, because he didn’t know if they were being listened to or watched (he was betting on both). “Look, I don’t know what the goal is here, but five minutes isn’t enough time for me to figure out a way out of here,” he whispered, tossing the paper aside. He stood up so they were eye to eye, even though Jack wouldn’t look at him straight on, not after Mac caught a glimpse of whatever was going on in his head. “So knock me around for a while and I’ll come up with a way out.”

“Mac, I’m...” Jack looked at him with wide eyes, so distraught that it actually broke Mac’s heart.

“Do it, Jack,” Mac said quietly, giving Jack a small smile—what else was he supposed to do? “It’s okay, come on.”

Jack took a deep breath, and after one last glance at the gun, he walked up closer to Mac, looking like he was about to cry. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and Mac knew that, he knew Jack was sorry and that he didn’t want to do it, but they didn’t have a choice.

After a few more seconds, Jack squeezed his eyes shut for a short moment before opening them... and throwing the first punch. It wasn’t too hard, but it was enough to send Mac stumbling a few steps back. Pain flared through Mac’s jaw and he planted his feet so he didn’t fall over. He’d taken much harder blows, but somehow it felt worse than it actually was because it came from Jack.

His hands clenched into fists automatically, his training kicking in, fight or flight sending adrenaline through his body, making his shoulders and the back of his neck hot. He clamped down on the urge to bring his arms up to block the next blow and instead tried to think about how to escape the basement. The folded stairs seemed like the obvious choice, but how did they get them down without getting shot? Maybe aim the fight in that direction? Or find a way to disable the gun?

Mac tried to locate the camera, but he couldn’t find it anywhere, even though he was sure it was there. Whatever escape plan he came up with needed to start with them disabling the camera, although then they were risking the gun going off without a warning. Another punch flew in his direction and Mac’s back hit the wall. He felt a big bruise forming on his face, but that was the least of their problems right now. He glanced at Jack who looked so miserable and so distressed, and Mac couldn’t take this, he had to turn his gaze away.

Suddenly, Jack tugged him closer and punched him in the stomach, but even though it knocked the breath out of him, it was a fairly light hit—he knew what Jack hit like when he wanted to hurt someone and that wasn’t it. And Mac realized that it was easier for Jack to make the punches much lighter than they looked that way, and that he was trying to give Mac a little break. Mac wheezed in his next breath and gripped Jack’s shirt in one fist, more for stability than anything else—other than that he didn’t move an inch, and he couldn’t tell if that made this better or worse for Jack. The next blow was to his side, but it glanced off the bone of his hip and again, it wasn’t as hard as it could be, since it probably hurt Jack more than it hurt Mac.

“Closer to the gun,” he muttered, hoping Jack would trust him instead of questioning his desire to get closer to the thing that wanted to kill them, and he did. He grabbed Mac by the shoulders, and Mac felt how Jack telegraphed what he was going to do before he did it, so he was prepared when he got thrown halfway across the room, skidding a little on his back on the concrete. It hurt but it wasn’t much worse than sparring except for the rough floor—and, you know, being almost naked.

Unfortunately, the closer look at the gun told Mac nothing. He laid on his back, breathing heavily and studying the damn thing while Jack slowly approached him—Mac could tell he was trying to be as slow as possible without making it obvious, and he actually looked like a predator closing in on his prey. Mac still wasn’t afraid of Jack, not in the slightest, even though he looked so dangerous. His hands were clenched in fists, lips pursed in a thin line, dark eyes staring at one thing only—at Mac, his target, and this was probably the worst timing ever, but Mac couldn’t help but think that Jack looked incredibly hot like that.

When Jack reached him he pulled his foot back and kicked Mac in the thigh. He wore steel-toed boots, but he turned his foot at the last possible second so Mac didn’t take the brunt of the blow. That kick was probably the most painful thing so far, and Jack repeated it a few times, giving Mac an opportunity to look up at the turret from underneath. The only thing he could think to try would be separating the gun from the turret, since the mechanism to pull the trigger was connected to the turret itself.

The problem with that was that the only way to do it was from directly underneath the gun... and there was only room in that corner for one person, which meant the other would have to play bait. What was even worse was that Jack would probably have to be the one to play bait, and while Mac was sure he wouldn’t mind, Mac didn’t like that. There was no guarantee that the gun wouldn’t go off the second Mac started tampering with it, and Mac wasn’t sure he wanted to risk Jack’s life like that. But the alternative was getting beaten up by the love of his life—yes, he stopped lying to himself a while ago, finally admitting to himself how he truly felt about Jack.

While Jack was clearly holding back and his punches and hits weren’t as hard as they could be, Mac was starting to feel the combined pain from all of them. When Jack kicked him again, he couldn’t stop a pained whimper coming out of his mouth—he managed to stay quiet earlier, but this time he couldn’t help it.

Jack froze for a split second when he heard that sound, and Mac stared up at him, imploring him not to say anything about it. He pushed himself up off the ground, favoring the leg Jack’s been kicking, and backed up away from the gun—and subsequently, from Jack. It put Mac almost directly under the folded stairs so he could get a look at the mechanism that held them in place... right as another piece of paper dropped through the slot in the floor joists.

Mac was closer so he picked it up and read it first: **Agent Dalton—hit Agent MacGyver like you mean it or there will be consequences. Start by dislocating his shoulder.**

He shut his eyes briefly before he held the message out to Jack in wordless invitation. If Jack did as he was told, that would make it a lot more difficult for Mac to do any kind of tampering with either the gun or the stairs, and maybe that was the point. Mac could tell Jack didn’t like the look on his face, but he stepped closer and grabbed the letter out of Mac’s hand.

Jack actually made a wounded sound when he read it, and he grew even paler than before. “Mac... Mac, no,” he whispered, looking at Mac with a terrified expression on his face, and Mac... Mac didn’t have an answer for him.

He didn’t have a plan.

“I’m sorry,” Mac said quietly, because he felt awful. He was supposed to have the answers, and he was letting Jack—and himself, but that wasn’t as important—down. He glanced past Jack at the gun again, and an idea sparked in his mind, an ugly one. He let Jack yank him into a rough hold with his left arm pinned behind his back, and took that opportunity to whisper, “You need to keep hurting me, and be convincing. Dislocate my shoulder, but push it forward, not back. I’ve got a plan.”

Mac felt more than heard Jack exhale shakily, and he tried to brace himself for the pain that was coming, but he still let out a scream when Jack gripped his arm and dislocated his shoulder in one swift move, a sick _crack_ echoing in the small room. It hurt, it hurt a lot, and Mac’s vision blurred with involuntary tears but he tried to hide it, not wanting Jack to feel even worse.

Before he could catch his breath, Jack pushed him against the wall and punched him in the stomach again, only this time much harder than before. Again, Mac couldn’t stop a pained groan, but he knew that Jack was just doing what he told him to do—being convincing. The next blow caught Mac across the face, and Jack wasn’t holding back anymore. He wasn’t aiming as well as he usually might, in that he wasn’t deliberately trying to push Mac’s nose into his brain, but he managed to bust Mac’s lip open on his teeth and made him spit blood.

Still, Mac didn’t fight back—at least not with his body. “Come on, man, I told you before, this is stupid!” he exclaimed, exaggerating his expression and willing Jack to play along as he backed up, away from Jack and the gun. “If we work together I’m sure we can figure out a way out of here, we don’t need to play this creep’s twisted game.”

Jack’s eyes widened only for a split second before the expression on his face went back to that blank look, but Mac knew Jack understood. “I’m sorry, man, but I’m not in the mood to become Swiss cheese if that damn gun goes off,” Jack growled, and he moved in Mac’s direction faster than before, grabbing his shoulders and kneeing him in the stomach, hard enough to make Mac double over.

When he was wheezing for breath, Jack punched him in his ribs, _hard_ , and Mac absently wondered if he’d end up with cracked or broken ribs after Jack was done with him. Mac looked up, not at Jack but at the gun, and it was tracking their movements perfectly—too perfectly, which meant the turret operated on some kind of sensor and it wasn’t a person moving it. That was actually good for what Mac had in mind, but he had to stay on his feet long enough to make it happen. Jack hit him in the ribs again and Mac felt something give way under his skin—the pain came a second later and he gagged, shoving Jack away with his good arm. He used the time to whirl around, putting his back to the gun again and backing up toward it, Jack following him.

“This... is stupid,” Mac said, and he didn’t have to fake his breathlessness. He also didn’t have to fake the aborted shout of pain he let out when Jack belted him across the face again.

“Shut up, man,” Jack said, and it was barely noticeable, but Mac knew him and he saw in his eyes how much Jack hated everything that was happening.

Mac’s doubled over again, trying to catch his breath, and he forced himself to focus—he had to get through this if he wanted them both to get out of this alive. Jack gripped his hair and tugged it hard until he was standing straight and then he punched Mac in the ribs again, a few times in a quick succession, and by the time he was done, Mac was whimpering again and gripping Jack’s biceps, tears running down his cheeks. He heard Jack suck in a sharp breath that hitched a little, and Mac realized through the fog of pain in his head that Jack was trying not to sob out loud.

They were almost close enough to the gun—Mac heard the turret whirring—and without warning he grabbed Jack’s shirt using his good hand and spun him around so he was in the corner under the gun and safe from any shots. Then Mac crowded in with his back to Jack’s chest, and right before the gun started firing he jammed his dislocated arm into the small gap between the body of the gun and the base of the turret, which kept it from dropping low enough to fire and strike either of them.

It started firing anyway, of course, and Mac’s skin got torn up by the movement of it, powder burns scorching him, but he didn’t care about any of that. With a scream through gritted teeth, he reached up with his good arm and disconnected the wire between the trigger and the turret, which stopped the shooting instantly. He felt Jack’s fingers digging into the waistband of his underwear, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from practically falling on his face, grabbing at his dislocated arm and holding it to his chest.

“Take... take the gun,” Mac said hoarsely, sweat pouring off of him, blood pooling on the floor. “Somebody’s going to be down here soon.”

Jack seemed torn between grabbing the gun and crouching by Mac’s side, trying to help him somehow, but suddenly there was some kind of noise coming from behind the door leading to their room. The pain was clouding Mac’s mind but he heard Jack curse and then he took the gun and pointed it at the door. A moment later it opened and a man appeared on the top of the stairs. Instead of getting the stairs down he instantly pointed his own gun at them, so Jack took him out with a few precise shots, and then the man tumbled down and crashed to the floor next to them.

Mac got an awful peek into the guy’s dead, sightless eyes before he rolled on his back, breath hitching as fire licked up his ribs. His right arm looked less like an arm and more like ground beef and he could barely focus enough to watch as Jack kicked the guy’s gun away and patted him down for a phone. As Mac’s vision started to fade, the last thing he heard was Jack’s voice: “Matty, it’s Jack. Yeah, no, I don’t know what happened either, we were drugged, but Mac needs help—Mac, hey, hey, don’t pass out on me—”

But by that point it wasn’t really up to Mac, and the darkness took him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments on the first chapter of this little fic! I hope you like the hurt/comfort and smut as much as you liked the whump!!!

If Mac had a nickel for every time he had woken up in a hospital, his mind fuzzy from drugs, he would’ve had an island to go with that yacht he was thinking about earlier.

He recognized the hospital smell immediately and the beeping of the machines attached to him was almost too familiar. After a moment he forced himself to open his eyes, expecting the lights to blind him, but much to his relief and surprise, the room was almost dark save for the small light in the corner. There was a shit ton of morphine in his system, and he knew that because one, he wasn’t in any pain and with his injuries that wasn’t possible, and two, his head was kind of spinning. He hated that feeling and he groaned a little, and then he heard a small sound on his right.

When he slowly turned his head he saw Jack sitting in a small, uncomfortable looking chair, watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Hey,” Mac grated out, after an odd pause where Jack said nothing, just stared at him. He glanced down at himself and saw blankets pulled up to his chin. His arms were outside them, though, and the right one was heavily bandaged from his wrist to his elbow. He had all kinds of IV lines and monitors attached to him, and while he wasn’t in pain, there was a heaviness to his body from the morphine that was unpleasant. “How... how long have I been out?”

“A few hours,” Jack said quietly, and there was something off about his voice, but Mac couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was keeping his distance, not sitting as close to Mac’s bed as he usually did, and it just... wasn’t right. “How are you feelin’?”

“Like I’m really, _really_ drugged,” Mac said, blinking slowly and frowning when that didn’t even make Jack chuckle like it normally would’ve. Apparently Mac was very funny when he was high—he was just thankful he had never accidentally told Jack how he really felt about him. He studied his own fingers against the blanket. “Okay, I guess. Did I break a rib? It felt like I broke a rib.”

“Three of them actually,” Jack said, and his voice sounded so blank that it actually scared Mac a little.

“Huh,” Mac hummed, “Alright, let’s keep guessing... concussion?”

He looked at Jack expectantly, but he didn’t say anything, just kept watching him. It made Mac nervous for some reason, but he hoped it would pass soon because he needed his normal Jack to make this hospital stay at least a little bearable. And if Jack didn’t want to play along, that was fine, Mac could make his own diagnosis.

“Concussion, but it can’t be too bad or they wouldn’t have given me the hard drugs.” He moved his face a little, and his jaw and mouth both felt stiff and swollen, along with one of his cheeks. “That’s all bruising, probably superficial... um, my arm’s pretty fucked up but I sorta knew that would happen... oh! My shoulder! They must’ve put it back in. And I’m sure my leg is bruised, but it’s not like I can see that.” He looked back at Jack, who was staring at him like he’d never seen him before. “Jack? Are you okay?” Mac’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“N-no, no, I didn’t,” Jack stuttered out, and that was wrong because Jack never stuttered, Mac didn’t think he’d ever heard that before. “How can you... never mind.” Jack shook his head, and if Mac wasn’t so drugged he would’ve probably called him out on it. “They said you can go home later today if you’re feeling up for it.”

Mac blinked again, slowly. “Okay, then you should tell me what’s going on with you, or tonight’s probably going to be awkward.” Jack had recently moved in with Mac after Bozer and Leanna moved into their place together, taking over Bozer’s old room. As much as Mac loved having Jack close all the time, hiding things was way more difficult when you lived together (Mac would know), and if something was wrong, Mac wanted to help. He reached out a hand and put it on the closest part of Jack, which happened to be his knee. “Seriously, Jack, what’s wrong?”

Jack blinked back at him, and suddenly Mac had a feeling they weren’t on the same page for some reason. “Mac, I’m... I kinda expected you to...” Jack trailed off and made a frustrated sound, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “I was going to call Bozer and ask him to stay with you tonight.”

It was Mac’s turn to stare, head tilting to one side curiously. “Why would you do that?” he asked, and he wasn’t... hurt, that would be ridiculous, just a little surprised. He tried to think of a reason why Jack wouldn’t want to stay at the house, or why he’d think Mac wouldn’t want him there, and came up empty. He tried on a smile and found that it made his mouth sting—his teeth must’ve cut the inside of his cheek. “Got a hot date I don’t know about?”

“What? No, Mac, of course not,” Jack said like it was the most obvious answer in the world. And now that Mac thought about it, it’d been a while since Jack went on a date or hooked up with anyone. And it was stupid, but it kind of made Mac happy, even though he knew it was selfish. “Mac, I thought... I thought you wouldn’t want to be around me after... after today.”

Mac couldn’t help the way his hand spasmed against Jack’s knee when he heard that, fingers gripping too tight before relaxing a little. “What? Jack, what the hell are you talking about?” he asked, and shook his head before he realized that was a bad idea. The room spun for a moment, but he kept talking. “You... you did what you had to do, what I _asked_ you to do, so we could get out of there. And there’s no... there’s no way I wouldn’t want to be around you.”

Jack kind of... slumped forward, and Mac thought he heard his breathing hitch, but he couldn’t be sure. When he looked up there was something weird in his eyes again, and it was rare that Mac couldn’t read Jack, and he kind of hated it. “We should... we’ll talk about it once you’re feeling better,” Jack said quietly, and Mac just... didn’t understand. For him there was nothing to talk about, but apparently something was eating Jack up inside.

They were interrupted by a doctor, who asked Mac all kinds of questions and took him off the morphine drip. Mac got to try sitting up, which wasn’t pleasant, but thankfully Jack was there to steady him. When Jack’s hands made contact with Mac’s body, Jack stared at him with wide eyes, like he was expecting Mac to push him away. Mac obviously didn’t do that, and before he knew it he was dressed in the spare clothes Jack kept in his car and he had bottles of prescriptions.

Then they were on the way to the house, and Mac finally thought to ask about the guy who kidnapped them. Jack explained that the dude was a disgruntled ex-Phoenix drone who wanted to get revenge on his former employer. That seemed... extreme, but the guy was dead so Mac figured it didn’t matter. He got this distinct feeling that Jack wasn’t telling him something, but Mac was still too drugged up to try and figure it out.

~***~

Once they got to the house Jack helped him get out of the car and then hauled him inside, and gingerly deposited him on the couch. He was acting as if Mac was going to break if he did anything wrong or touched him too much, and Mac was slowly starting to be done with it.

“Do you need anything?” Jack asked quietly, not looking at him.

The morphine from the hospital had worn off and Mac felt less than stellar. “Sit with me?” he asked, half expecting Jack to bolt when he heard the request, but he didn’t. Instead, he perched gingerly on the opposite end of the couch, and Mac rolled his eyes. “I said _with_ me, not vaguely in the same space,” he said, a little snappish, and reached out with his bandaged arm, grabbing Jack’s shirt and tugging him closer. Once that was done, Mac got his phone and ordered some Mexican food. “Now, tell me what the fuck’s going on with you.”

Jack’s eyes widened and he seemed surprised by Mac’s tone and the swearing, and he stared at Mac for a moment before looking away. He was fiddling with his fingers, and even though Mac’s patience was running out, he forced himself to wait. “Mac, I /hurt/ you,” Jack said so softly Mac could barely hear him. “I... I punched you, and hit you, and kicked you... Mac, I _broke your ribs_.” He whispered the last part and he sounded distraught, his voice shaking and laced with self-hatred.

“I know all of that, Jack,” Mac said, not unkindly. He saw that this was really bothering Jack, and he wasn’t sure how to help. “But like I said before, we didn’t exactly have a choice—”

“You really think that makes me feel better?” Jack interjected, and when he looked at Mac his eyes were full of tears. He shook a little, fine tremors running through his muscles. “I don’t care that I _had_ to do it, Mac, I care that... I _hurt_ you, the one thing I swore to myself I’d never fucking do.” Mac was kind of speechless and before he could come up with something to say, Jack was talking again, apparently not done. “If there had been a way to make sure the gun would have gotten just me, I would have put myself in the line of fire without a question to avoid hurting you,” Jack whispered, staring at his hands, silent tears running down his cheeks. “But he said we would both die if I didn’t... Mac, I couldn’t let you die, I’m so sorry. I tried to make it hurt less, I held myself back, but after he noticed I just... I couldn’t let you die,” Jack repeated, his voice choked up. “I’m so sorry.”

Mac pulled Jack into a hug without conscious thought, his bandaged arm wrapping around Jack’s shoulders since he couldn’t lift the one that was dislocated that high. Jack went completely still against him, but was evidently too shocked to try and pull away—or he was afraid he’d hurt Mac again without meaning to. “Jack, you have nothing to apologize for,” Mac whispered, feeling tears prickling his own eyes at how much Jack was hurting on the inside. “I made my peace with it while it was happening, I knew it was what we had to do to get out of there. I wasn’t going to let us die like that.” He slid his other arm around Jack too, just lower down, closer to his waist. “Hug me back, Jack. It’s okay.”

Slowly, Jack wrapped his arms around Mac’s waist, holding him gently, clearly not wanting to put any pressure on Mac’s ribs. Mac felt Jack’s hands tremble against his back—actually, Jack’s whole body was trembling, and when he buried his face in Mac’s neck, Mac felt something wet against his skin and noticed how Jack’s shoulders shook, and he realized that Jack was crying. It was a terrifying thought because Jack didn’t cry, not ever, and now he was in Mac’s arms trying to make himself as small as possible, and not make any sound at all.

Mac swallowed hard and blinked even harder, trying to keep his own tears from falling. Not for himself, but for the hell that Jack had clearly put himself through. “Shhh, it’s all right,” he soothed, pressing his unbruised cheek against the side of Jack’s head. His short hair tickled Mac’s skin, and carefully rubbed a hand up and down Jack’s back. “I’m right here, Jack, and I’m not going anywhere. And you need to understand something, okay? I don’t want you to go anywhere either. You’re... you’re too important to me.” Mac had to be careful or he was going to blurt out right there how much he loved Jack, and then he would lose him for good.

“But I’m...” Jack started, his voice muffled by Mac’s neck, and it hit Mac that they’d never really done this before. Sure, they hugged, they even cuddled a few times for warmth... but since they never really cried, there had been no need for one to comfort the other like this. “Mac, I’m a _monster_ ,” Jack whispered, and Mac’s heart dropped. “What kind of person does something like... and to someone they...” Jack was actually sobbing now, and it sounds like he barely had any air left to speak. “How can you still want me around? How aren’t you scared of me?”

Mac’s initial reaction was to protest viscerally to the idea of Jack calling himself a monster, but he knew that wouldn’t get through to his hard-headed partner... so he tried something else. “Do you think I was afraid of you the day we fought in the Sandbox?” he asked, shifting a little so he could hold Jack more comfortably without putting pressure on anything. “I wasn’t. I was pissed that you acted like a jerk when I tried to help you out, but I was never afraid. I wasn’t afraid when you became my overwatch and constantly had a gun aimed at my six, or during any of the arguments we’ve had where you’ve gotten in my face.”

He started rubbing slow, smooth circles in between Jack’s shoulder blades, something Mac remembered his mom doing when he would get upset. “I wasn’t afraid because you’re not a threat to me, Jack—you never have been. Neither of us could’ve predicted how today was going to go... and not to sound too much like you, but we did the best with what we had.” And if Mac’s voice shook a little by the end of that speech, well, it was appropriate because he felt pretty damn emotional. “If it were up to you, you never would’ve hurt me. I know that. I trust you.”

Jack made this small, wounded noise in the back of his throat, but other than that he didn’t say anything. His arms around Mac tightened a little, but it didn’t hurt too much, plus it felt... nice, so Mac definitely wasn’t going to stop him. “You’re... you’re crazy,” Jack said quietly after a moment, and Mac felt his lips moving against his neck and he had to suppress a shiver, trying not to imagine other circumstances when Jack could have his lips pressed to Mac’s skin. “Any normal person would... would run for the hills. As far away from me as they could. But you... you’re not doing that.”

“Because you don’t scare me, and you’re not going to hurt me again,” Mac said, and had to bite his tongue so hard it hurt so he didn’t add _and because I’ve been in love with you for years now and nothing could make me leave you_.

He was hyper aware of every place they touched, but before he could do something stupid and friendship-ruining like blurt out how he really felt, there was a knock at the door that made them jump apart—the delivery guy had arrived. Mac went to stand but Jack just glared at him and he sat back down, waiting until Jack was on his way to the door to make a face at him behind his back. Jack opened the door and sounded amazingly normal as he paid the guy and grabbed the bags of tacos and burritos and enchiladas. He put all the bags down on the coffee table and then went to the fridge to get some sodas.

“You can have a beer, you know,” Mac pointed out, unable to stop the fond smile that appeared on his lips. “I don’t mind.”

“Nah, it’s fine, man,” Jack said, coming back to the couch with sodas. He sounded... better, not like he did with the delivery guy, but also not as choked up as earlier. The tears were gone from his eyes and someone who didn’t know him wouldn’t even be able to tell he was crying at all. He sat back down, right next to Mac, and Mac discreetly breathed out in relief, glad he wasn’t running to the other end of the couch. “You need any painkillers? Anything?”

“Maybe half of a—” Mac couldn’t even get the word “Vicodin” out before Jack was up off the couch, cracking a tablet in half and handing it to Mac along with an antibiotic. “Thanks, Jack.”

He took both before they dove into the food and found a baseball game to watch on TV—of the major league sports, baseball was probably Mac’s favorite. There was math involved, as there was in any sport, but it was also not ridiculously violent. And Jack liked it, so Mac could pretend to be a little more invested in the Texas Rangers than he actually was. Mac kept sneaking discreet glances at Jack while they ate, and while he seemed focused on the game, Mac could still see he was tense. It wasn’t too obvious, visible in his shoulders and in the lines on his face. Mac didn’t know what else to do to help him so he didn’t say anything, chewing on the food, eyes glued to the TV screen.

Once he was done eating, Mac tried to make himself more comfortable and made the mistake of shifting a little too much. He couldn’t stop the small pained groan that slipped out of his mouth, and Jack’s whole body jolted as his head snapped in Mac’s direction, already reaching for him. “Mac, you okay?” he asks, his voice sounding... frantic, as he looked at Mac with wide eyes.

Mac put a hand on Jack’s arm and squeezed a little, trying for reassurance. “I’m okay, Jack, just kind of sore,” he said honestly, because it wasn’t like lying had a chance of working—Jack knew exactly how bad he was hurt. This angle gave him a better look at Jack’s hands, and Mac felt his own eyes widen. His knuckles were purple with bruises and two times their normal size. “Hey, did you ice your knuckles? They’re really swollen.”

Jack frowned a little, as if he didn’t know what Mac was talking about, and then he glanced at his hands. “It’s nothin’, man,” he said, taking his hands away, and now Mac was one hundred percent sure Jack didn’t ice them. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” Jack added, but he most definitely wasn’t fine—his hands must’ve hurt, probably a lot considering how bad they looked.

“Stop doing that,” Mac said, looking at him imploringly. When Jack made a questioning sound, he clarified, “Pretending to be okay when I know you aren’t.” He took Jack’s hands in his own, just tugging harder when he tried to pull back again, and checked each one of Jack’s fingers to make sure he didn’t break anything. One of his knuckles was dislocated, and Mac scowled at him for not taking care of it sooner while he snapped it back in. “Do you want arthritis? No? Then go get some damn ice and put it on your hands, or I’ll do it for you.”

Jack didn’t move at first so Mac shifted a little, trying to get up, and that was enough to get Jack moving. “Fine, fine, I’m going,” he muttered, getting up and waiting for Mac to sit back down before going to get the ice.

Mac watched him as he walks, and Jack still looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. With a start Mac realized that Jack probably didn’t do anything about his hands in a stupid attempt to punish himself for hurting Mac, and that made Mac swallow hard, his chest tightening painfully. When Jack sat back down next to him, Mac took a calculated risk—he pressed himself against Jack’s side and rested his head on Jack’s shoulder. He felt how surprised Jack was by the contact and he hoped like hell he didn’t just overstep. But a moment later Jack’s arm draped carefully over his shoulders, and they both returned their attention to the baseball game.

Or at least Mac pretended to, but in reality he was quietly freaking out.

Jack was warm and solid against him, and Mac had to fight the urge to snuggle deeper under his arm. That definitely wouldn’t be something just friends did, and Mac was pushing it already by putting his head on Jack’s shoulder like that. It felt amazing though, and it took everything in Mac’s power not to sneak his arm around Jack’s middle and pull him closer. Focusing on the game didn’t really work, his eyes looked at the screen but didn’t registering what was going on, so instead he listened to Jack’s breathing, focusing on how safe and comfortable he feels right now.

~***~

They watched the rest of the game like that, and by the time it was over Mac was yawning. “Okay, time for you to go to bed,” Jack declared, and he got up, then helped Mac to his feet.

He held him around the shoulders carefully and got him to the bathroom, which Mac used quickly before brushing his teeth. He spat out some blood with his toothpaste but that couldn’t really be helped. Then he walked back into his room, where Jack was waiting on the edge of the bed like a kid expecting to be scolded by his parents.

Mac did nothing of the sort, just grabbed some more comfortable clothes out of his dresser... and then realized he had a problem. “Um... Jack? I think I’m gonna need you to help me change.”

“Right, yeah, sure,” Jack said after a second of delay, jumping to his feet.

And it shouldn’t have been a big deal, they’d done this before—thanks to their jobs they got hurt a lot, and more often than not one of them required some kind of assistance because of his injuries. But despite that Mac’s heart hammered, and he had to suppress a shiver when Jack helped him out of his t-shirt. Some inappropriate thoughts went through Mac’s head, but they faded a little when Jack’s gaze dropped to Mac’s chest and abs, and Mac didn’t have to look down to know there was a mosaic of bruises down there.

Jack visibly tensed and swallowed hard, staring for a moment before grabbing the shirt Mac chose to sleep in from the bed with a trembling hand, ready to help Mac put it on. There was this odd feeling sitting between them and Mac hated it—the hesitancy on Jack’s part that in his mind never belonged there, not where Mac was concerned. He took a step forward to tell Jack that at the same time Jack stepped forward to help him, and they wound up bumping into each other. Mac teetered dangerously and almost fell down, except Jack got his arms around him at the last moment, the t-shirt dropped on the floor.

Getting caught hurt, but it hurt a lot less than falling down. Problem was... it meant they were close. Very close, close enough that Mac saw the flecks of gold in Jack’s brown eyes, and he couldn’t help the way his own eyes flicked down to Jack’s lips, just for a second. He quickly glanced back up only to find Jack’s eyes wider than a second before which meant he must have noticed. Mac’s hands were on Jack’s shoulders where he gripped him to steady himself, and Jack wasn’t pushing him away or loosening his arms around him, and something in Mac just... snapped.

Because this was _Jack_ , a man who would jump in front of any danger to protect Mac from it, someone that backed Mac up every single time without a doubt. Mac’s loved him for many years now, so before he could overthink what he was about to do... he leaned in and pressed their lips together. For a moment Jack was completely still, and Mac wondered if he made a horrendous mistake... but then he heard Jack make a soft sound in the back of his throat, and he kissed back. Gently, tentatively, like he was afraid Mac would respond badly even though Mac was the one who kissed him.

Mac couldn’t raise his left arm to wrap it around Jack’s neck, so he took two fistfuls of Jack’s shirt instead. There was a part of him that was convinced he must be dreaming, because Jack was _kissing back_ —that only ever happened in Mac’s dreams. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Mac pressed himself even closer to Jack, and after a second of hesitation he swiped his tongue over Jack’s bottom lip. He was amazed when Jack parted his lips for him, letting Mac slip his tongue into his mouth. Their tongues slowly slid together and this was without a doubt the best kiss Mac had ever experienced, but unfortunately air became a necessity, so after a moment Mac pulled away and stared at Jack with wide eyes.

For a moment they sort of gaped at each other like fish, and from an outside perspective it probably looked hilarious. “I love you,” Mac blurted out, swallowing hard, and he couldn’t believe he was doing this but it was too late to turn back now. “I’ve been in love with you for years. I... I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t think there was a chance in hell you’d feel the same way, and I couldn’t... I couldn’t risk losing you. And I’m not going to lose you over this either, Jack.”

Jack continued staring at him, and for a moment Mac wondered if he somehow broke him, but then Jack blinked a few times, his arms tightening around Mac. It sent small sparks of pain through Mac’s body since hugging and broken ribs didn’t really go well together, but Mac barely noticed, waiting for Jack to say something. “Mac, I... I love you too. Of course I do,” Jack whispered, and his eyes filled with tears. “But how can you... after I...” Jack closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, and when he opened them and looked at Mac again, they were full of pain. “I’m bad for you, Mac.”

Mac brought his good hand up and touched Jack’s cheek with his fingertips, smiling a little when he leaned into the gesture despite his words. “You’re not bad for me, Jack,” he replied, just as quiet, but full of conviction. Raising his eyebrows, he added, “And really, that isn’t up to you. If I want to be around you, I’m going to be around you. You know how stubborn I am.”

“I know that,” Jack whispered, but there was a certain fondness in his voice. He turned his head to kiss Mac’s fingers, and Mac almost melted right there, his heart fluttering. “You’re sure about this?”

Mac just nodded in response—he’d never been that sure about anything—and closed the distance between them, kissing Jack again. He made a little sound when Jack’s hand started slowly stroking his back, and he couldn’t help but shiver under Jack’s touch, firm yet gentle at the same time. Mac hooked his bandaged arm around Jack’s neck, his other hand still tangled in his shirt front. The kiss was gentle and sweet even when Jack deepened it after a moment, licking over Mac’s split lip carefully before his tongue delved inside his mouth.

Mac turned Jack so his back was to the bed and got him to sit back down on the edge of the mattress, then sat in his lap. It was much easier on his body than standing, and he trusted Jack not to let him topple over backward. Just like Mac thought he would, Jack shifted his arms around him a little, steadying him and holding him in a secure grip. Mac was still wearing the spare jeans from Jack’s car, but changing was now the last thing on his mind—all that mattered was Jack’s lips on his. The kiss stayed gentle despite their new position, and Mac couldn’t get enough, exploring Jack’s mouth with his tongue, smiling a little when Jack groaned after Mac nipped on his lower lip.

Jack’s hands were both flat on Mac’s back, and one ran cautiously up his spine to touch his hair, fingers tangling in the strands when Mac made a sound of approval. The other one slid... lower, not quite touching his ass, at least until Mac’s hips twitched forward a little, involuntarily grinding them together. Then Jack apparently felt bold enough to grab one of his ass cheeks and squeeze lightly, and since it was one of very few parts of Mac that didn’t hurt, he liked that a lot. Almost as much as the way Jack kissed, passionate and thorough. After a moment Jack broke the kiss, pressing his lips to Mac’s cheek and then his jaw. Keeping his hands in Mac’s hair and on his ass, Jack trailed his lips lower, nipping on the side of his neck before moving to his throat.

Mac moaned loudly when Jack’s teeth graze his skin, the arm he had around Jack’s neck tightening and pulling him even closer. “Jack,” he breathed out, groaning a little when Jack bit down on the spot where his neck met his shoulder before sucking a bruise into his collarbone.

And as much as Mac loved the feeling of Jack’s mouth on his skin, it was decidedly unfair that he was shirtless and Jack wasn’t. So when Mac could make his hands move with some kind of coordination, he slid them down Jack’s chest and abs, then hooked his fingers under the hem of his t-shirt. Thankfully Jack got the idea and pulled back long enough to take it off and toss it aside... which was when Mac noticed the scrapes and bruises on his back from where Mac threw him into the corner.

He put a hand Jack’s cheek to stop him from leaning in again and raised an eyebrow. “Something else you forgot to tell me about?”

“I’m fine, Mac—” Jack started, but didn’t finish the sentence after Mac gave him a pointed glare. “It’s really nothing to worry about, baby—what?”

Mac realized he was smiling, a wide, happy thing he couldn’t control. “Nothing, I just... I like when you call me that.”

That made Jack grin, a toothy, genuine thing that made his whole face light up. “Well then,” he drawled, leaning in to press his lips to Mac’s cheek, then his jaw. “I can call you baby’.” His lips trailed over to Mac’s ear, kissing the shell lightly before he nipped at Mac’s earlobe. “Or darlin’... or even sweetheart, if that’s you want.”

“You, um...” Mac blushed and squirmed a little, chuckling when Jack nuzzled against the side of his face. “You can call me Angus, too. I think I’d like that.”

Jack stilled for a moment before he leaned back a little, his eyes dark and serious. “You... I’d be honored,” he muttered, and gave Mac a sweet kiss, and it was unbelievable how much Mac loved him.

It felt like his heart was going to burst, and when Jack tried to pull away, Mac framed his face with his hands and pulled him in another kiss, one that was more heated and with a clear meaning behind it. “Maybe... maybe we should lie down?” Mac suggested, whispering against Jack’s lips, his voice kind of hoarse.

Jack made a contemplative sound, kissing the corner of Mac’s mouth and reaching over to yank Mac’s pillows into a loose formation. Then, very carefully, Jack gripped Mac’s hips and shifted him so he was lying down against the pillows, tilted up enough so he could breathe without aggravating his ribs. He blinked at Jack, and before he could ask how this was going to work, Jack’s lying down on his side next to Mac. He leaned in and mouthed at Mac’s jaw... and his hand... his hand moved to cup Mac’s hard cock through his jeans.

Mac gasped, one hand flying to grip Jack’s shoulder while the other twisted in the bedsheets. He felt Jack smirk against his skin, but before he could come up with something witty to say, Jack skillfully unbuttoned his jeans with one hand and slid his hand inside, fingers wrapping loosely around Mac’s cock. “Oh god, _Jack_ ,” Mac groaned when Jack started stroking him lazily.

Jack nipped on his jaw in response. “That’s right, baby, let me hear you,” he muttered, moving lower to lick over one of Mac’s nipples.

Jack’s hand was rough in exactly all the right ways, but his grip was gentle even when his strokes got firmer. He moaned a little, spreading his legs, not even wincing when he had to move his bruised thigh. Jack shifted again, crawling between Mac’s legs, and it took his lust-addled brain a second to realize what was about to happen. “Jack, you—you don’t have to—” Mac started, but it cut off into a yelp when Jack sucked the head of his cock into his mouth. “Oh my god.”

Mac breathed out when Jack sunk lower, eventually taking all of him into his mouth. Mac couldn’t look away, and he groaned loudly when Jack glanced up at him and _winked_ before starting to bob his head up and down, his tongue doing something insane to his cock. “Jack, oh, _Jack_ ,” Mac whimpered when Jack suddenly swallowed around him, his throat fluttering, and Mac hips twitched a little, causing Jack to put his arm over them to stop Mac from moving.

And the fact that Jack could hold Mac down so easily while working him over with his mouth was... incredibly hot. He loved how strong Jack was, he always had, and he wasn’t surprised at all that being put in this position turned him on even more. Jack pulled back and started bobbing his head, setting up a steady rhythm that he interrupted every once in a while by taking Mac in to the root and swallowing around him, hot and impossibly tight. Mac couldn’t stop the sounds that kept falling from his lips, needy, high-pitched whimpers that he usually would’ve been embarrassed about, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care right now. He gripped the bedsheets on either side of his hips with his hands, and after a while Mac felt his orgasm building up.

“Jack, Jack, I’m gonna—” Mac started, panting, but Jack didn’t pull back—if anything, he pinned him down with his arm even harder. Mac was breathless and shaking, his entire body flushing hot. “Oh, oh, _Jack_ ,” he all but screamed, and then he was coming, eyes rolling back in his head, hands slackening against the sheets. He felt his hips try to twitch feebly but they didn’t even move under the pressure from Jack’s arm. He spilled down Jack’s throat and he just swallowed everything Mac had to give before cleaning him off with his tongue.

Then he crawled back up Mac’s body and laid next to him again, nuzzling against his cheek, his cock hard against Mac’s hip. Mac turned his head to catch Jack’s lips in a filthy kiss, moaning softly when he tasted himself on Jack’s tongue. He put one hand on the back of Jack’s neck, pulling him closer, and he slid his other hand down Jack’s chest and abs until he reached the waistband of Jack’s jeans. He wasn’t as quick as Jack, but eventually he managed to undo his jeans with one hand, and he wrapped his fingers around his cock, swallowing the groan Jack let out. He wasn’t really in the shape to return the favor and blow Jack, but he could still make him come. Shifting a little, Mac bit down on Jack bottom lip and started slowly stroking him, smirking against Jack’s lips when Jack whimpered softly.

“God, Angus, those fingers of yours are something else,” Jack said, because apparently he was just as talkative in bed as he was everywhere else.

And hearing his first name fall from Jack’s lips in that rough, desperate voice made Mac shiver all over again, his cock twitching feebly. He firmed up his grip a little and started twisting his hand at the end of every other stroke, thumb rubbing over the head as his tongue plundered Jack’s mouth. Jack’s hips twitched and he actually started thrusting into Mac’s hand, moaning loudly into Mac’s mouth. Somehow Mac could tell when Jack was getting close and he started stroking him faster, and Jack broke the kiss to pant against Mac’s cheek, his arm loosely wrapped around Mac and fingers digging into the pillow under Mac’s back.

“Oh god, baby, yes, I’m—” Jack groaned, his stubble scratching Mac’s cheek, his hips thrusting rapidly into Mac’s hand. “God, Angus, baby, oh, _Angus_.”

Jack whimpered against Mac’s skin and then he was coming, his hips moving erratically as Mac worked him through the orgasm, come spurting all over his hand and Jack’s abs. Mac stroked him slowly through the aftershocks before he pulled his hand away, bringing it up to his mouth and licking his thumb experimentally. Jack’s come tasted salty and bitter because, well, it was come, but Mac found he didn’t mind it.

Jack had his eyes squeezed shut tight but when he opened them again and saw what Mac was doing to his other fingers he groaned throatily. “Are you actually trying to kill me, darlin’?”

Mac couldn’t help but laugh a little, even if it hurt his ribs. “Mhm, no, not really,” Mac said with a grin, pulling Jack into a kiss, but it turned out a bit messy since Mac just couldn’t stop smiling. “I kinda like you alive, you know,” Mac added, nuzzling Jack’s cheek, and even though everything kind of hurt, Mac didn’t remember the last time he was so happy.

Jack looked at him with warm brown eyes full of affection. The sadness and pain that was haunting him earlier seemed to have disappeared. “I love you, so damn much,” he said, reaching up to tuck a section of Mac’s hair back behind his ear. “And I... I’m probably never gonna feel like I deserve to be with you, especially like this... but if this is what you want, then there’s no way you’re getting rid of me.”

“I love you too,” Mac said with a smile, turning his head to kiss the inside of Jack’s wrist. “And of course you deserve me. You deserve everything, Jack.” Mac shifted as close to Jack as he could, pressing their noses together. “And I’ll keep proving it to you every single day until you finally believe me.”


End file.
